What does it mean to "make love"?

Redefining s*x in our adulthoods

Jessi and I have known each other since we were 14 and 15 years old. Yes, it’s the longest friendship of my life. We met at auditions for the Fall play at our Georgia high school where I was a boarding student and she was a day student. We did all the school plays, musicals, and theater competitions together. Not to brag, but we were kind of the theater department King and Queen.

High School Production of The Importance of Being Earnest

We parted ways after she graduated, but reunited a couple years later when she transferred to F.I.T. in New York while I was studying at NYU. A few years after that, she moved with her husband for a job in Ohio. Then finally we were reunited again on the west coast in 2016. Twenty-three years of friendship (which is wild to conceptualize) means we’ve seen sooooo many versions of each other, and now she’s about to become a mother! Of course, I cried when she told me over lunch a couple months ago. It’s so beautiful to witness a friend take on a new chapter as sacred as motherhood. Unfortunately I had to miss the baby shower, so we made a plan for brunch. I drove over to Venice to meet up with her, Kevin, and their house guest, Aimé. Aimé, a French jazz musician now living in Brooklyn, had me charmed from the beginning. Babe, I love me a funny and vulnerable straight man. Like what an enamoring and all too rare combination! 

The four of us walked over to a local brunch spot and I was completely in awe of their picturesque neighborhood and also grateful to be back in their company, as it had been a while since I’d gotten to seen Jessi and Kevin together. Those two have always been couple goals. They’ve been together since our early twenties, and are an incredible balance for each other. Both incredibly smart, but also the most fun, beyond generous, deeply kind, and open-hearted humans. They’ve celebrated with me in some of my biggest moments, and held me down at some of my lowest. To have their love all these years is nothing short of a blessing, and getting to spend time with them is always meaningful. It fills my cup.  When we sat down, Jessi and Kevin wanted me to catch them up on “everything”. I started talking about the podcast, this Substack, and some other things, when Aimé politely interjected, asking in his charismatic French accent, “I’m sorry, but what is it that you do exactly?” Fair question Aimé! Once I got Aimé up to speed about the work I do relating to sex + self,  he was ready with follow up questions. The first being…

So, what does it mean to make love?

OUWEE! Certainly, not the follow up question I was expecting. It knocked the wind outta me to be honest, but yaaas Aimé! Go awf! Jessi, Kevin, and I looked at each other, momentarily stumped. We loved the question, but had never considered it like this. I think all of us, being in long term partnerships, would agree we’ve made love before, but I don’t know if any of us had ever been asked to define what “making love” actually is. Or, means.  After a beat of reflection, I piped up, expressing that I knew what I was told making love is or looks like, but wasn’t sure if those definitions actually matched my own now. Mostly because I’d never defined it for myself. 

I’ll tell you my thoughts, but I’d love to hear from you in the comments section! What’s your definition of making love?

I grew up understanding making love as the expertise of male R&B singers of the late 90s/early 2000s. Like Joe’s I Wanna Know, Carl Thomas’ Summer Rain, and of course, Untitled (How Does it Feel) by D’Angelo. Immediately I’m transported to their music videos which I guess is what taught me about the concept of making love. You know the very low lighting, lots of coconut oil, plenty of foot rubs, and slowest of strokes. Also crying. It felt like when you made love, you could be so overwhelmed by the emotion that you’d tear up. Also, also, making love is always with your husband or wife, MAYBE a longtime girlfriend or boyfriend. “But if y’all been together that long, why hasn’t he proposed?!” Oop! Society has some toxic fuckin views on relationships and sex, don’t it? I also understood that when it comes to sex, either you were making love or you were fucking. No in between. 

I think up until a few years ago, when I started on this heaux journey of gently interrogating my relationship to sex, I’d probably have unconsciously agreed with the above as an accurate definition of making love. As I’m typing, I’m flabbergasted by realizing again how often we operate on beliefs that were given to us in our youth without questioning it in our adulthood. How is it that my 14 year old concept of making love had never been challenged by me or anyone? I guess there was never a need to interrogate what I had learned from watching late night music videos.  It didn’t feel like it was interrupting my sex life. Feel being the operative word.  Which is why I say interrogate everything. Interrogation is the only way we get ourselves free from ideas and beliefs that don’t serve our freedom. Or our pleasure! 

Okay, wait! Let me not dive too deep just yet. Maybe before giving my current definition of making love, I should first define what I grew up understanding fucking was.

I guess that too was informed by videos, but porn ones. Which means to me fucking was sweaty, loud, primal, and nasty. The good kind. The Tinashe kind. Quite honestly, I liked those vibes a lot more than the 90s R&B ones. The stakes perhaps felt lower. It also wasn’t vulnerable. It seemed to me that fucking never came with any care. It was transactional. Not really based on if you had a good personality or “good energy”. The only requirements were being attracted to each other. Growing up with internalized and externalized homophobia and racism, not knowing my true worth, I probably gravitated towards fucking over making love, because I didn’t think I was lovable. Seeking to make love felt like it would be an empty pursuit. But, I could fuck. Everyone’s allowed to fuck, right? Devastating to type that. To realize that was my mode of operation. But these days my definition of fucking would also be different.

I can only attribute the shift of my definitions to be a result of how I view myself. Whether we want to admit it or not, sex–fucking or making love–is inextricably linked to the ways in which we love or don’t love ourselves. It’s linked to our worth. Which is such an easy thing to say, but how do you learn to love yourself? How do you learn your worth? There’s no way for me to cover that in this forum, but I can give you my headlines.

First, you have to know it’s work. You do it slowly. With time and commitment. Failure. Raising awareness of your patterns and your actions that reflect your thoughts. Not your positive affirmation thoughts, but those unchecked thoughts, insults, criticisms, suffocating beliefs that fuel your operating system. It might require a change of environment, change of social groups, change of profession, change of algorithm, change of boundaries, an erecting of boundaries. Might be necessary to be in therapy. Might be important to read, watch, or listen to other people’s stories and use their testimony as a bridge to your own. Might be crucial to retreat, reevaluate, and recalibrate your steps-reflecting on where you’ve been, being honest about where you are, and gaining clarity on where you want to be. Who you want to be. Not for the world. Not for a girlfriend. Not for a husband. For you. Who do you want to be, for you? 

Work.

Getting out of an emotionally abusive relationship in my early twenties, and knowing I never wanted to repeat that mistake again, made me have to figure out who I wanted to be for me. I wanted to be my biggest advocate. My most dedicated protector. My greatest love.

We’re often taught it’s selfish to love ourselves first (especially women and queer folx) and I think it’s how some of us find ourselves in toxic and abusive dynamics. It’s usually the love we have for the other person that implores us to stay.  But in reality I’ve learned, the love I have for myself, allows me to love others with an unquantifiable depth. This feels like a good time to insert a gentle reminder that you can’t serve anyone from an empty well. No matter how much you might try. No matter how much you might feel like you are loving them, you’re actually giving them the bricks of your infrastructure. And brick by brick, dismantling yourself. Perhaps you can still call it love, but it’s certainly not a sustainable love. 

I venture to ask, do we really know what love is, if we haven’t given it to ourselves? Maybe we do know what it is, but do we get to experience its magnitude?  I’m not saying you can’t have good sex if you don’t love yourself, but I am saying there’s a difference between having sex so you can feel your worth, and having sex for pleasure. One is a chase, the other just is. And I wonder if we’re cutting ourselves off from pleasure because our nervous system remains in a state of chasing things that make us feel loved, as opposed to resting in the comfort and knowledge of our own.  Also there’s no judgment to be had. Baby we’ve all had sex to feel validation at some point. Sometimes you need a quick fix. But for the longevity of your sex life, I think sex for pleasure’s sake is a valuable pursuit.

Sitting at the table, in the deliberation of Aimé’s question, I interrogated myself and for the first time it dawned on me that perhaps making love has nothing to do with how much coconut oil your sheets are covered in. Perhaps it’s just about the type of connection you have with the person. And the type of connection has nothing to do with how long you’ve known each other or if you’re even dating. There are people I’d consider I’ve made love with and I don’t even know their last name. Whereas fucking I’ve done in dark rooms, steam rooms, on trips, random last minute hooks ups. So my definition for making love is intimate connection. Coconut oil present or not, I think if you’ve established an intimate connection you are making love.  And my definition for fucking is slutty connection. I use the word connection here too, because even as Tinashe nasty as those encounters can be, I do still want there to be care. 

By-the-by,  these are MY definitions, as in what I believe for me. Someone might value that making love is only between them and a long term partner. Someone else might be turned on by there not being a connection beyond attraction. Everyone can have their own definition. I think what’s important is defining what you want sex to be for you, and then seek out partners who align with that. Also our definitions get to evolve and transform over time, just like we do. 

But of course there’s more to sex than just making love or fucking. In fact I think in my current heaux chapter, I prefer a blend of both. Something porny but still open hearted vibes. Coconut oil and sweat mixed together.  Kevin said, “perhaps you prefer making fuck” and I’ve never felt more seen. 

Making fuck: intimately slutty connection.  

So what about you? What are your definitions of making love or fucking?

And also….

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And in case you haven’t heard it yet today, you are so deeply loved. I love you.